I sit up, pushing my hair back. “I can help—”
“No.” His tone leaves no room for argument. “You stay inside. I’ll be quick.”
He gives me that familiar stoic look, but there is heat banked in his eyes. I nod reluctantly and watch as he dresses in full foul-weather gear, dark tactical layers designed for rough conditions. He looks every inch the dangerous ex-SEAL, broad shoulders filling the jacket, movements efficient and powerful.
Once he steps outside, I lock the heavy door behind him and move to the kitchen table. I power up my laptop, the battery still holding enough charge. The gala security footage is grainy, but I know every angle of that exhibit. I fast-forward to the moments before the lights went out, then slow it down frame by frame.
“Look here,” I mutter to myself, zooming in on the edge of the screen. A shadow lingers near the power junction box well before the flicker. That wasn’t random. The way the lead thief moved,he knew exactly where the centerpiece was. No hesitation. They had inside information or prior reconnaissance.
I keep watching, heart beating faster as I spot another detail: one of the thieves glancing toward a specific guest right before the blackout. Someone who had been standing near the exhibit earlier, acting casual. My curator's eye catches what others might miss, the subtle coordination.
The side door opens with a rush of wind and rain. Jax steps back inside, soaked to the bone. Water streams off his gear, pooling on the floor. His chest heaves with controlled breaths, rain dripping from his hair and running down the hard lines of his face.
“Perimeter is clear for now,” he says, already stripping off the outer jacket. “No fresh tracks, but the rain would have washed away anything useful.”
“I found something,” I say quickly, turning the laptop toward him. “Come look.”
He crosses the room, leaving wet footprints, and leans over my shoulder. His chest brushes my back, warm and solid despite the cold rain soaking his clothes. His breath fans across my neck as he studies the screen.
“Good catch,” he murmurs, voice low. “That shadow by the junction box proves it was planned.”
The close call with the storm and the fresh evidence send adrenaline buzzing through my veins. I watch as Jax starts peeling off the rest of his wet gear. The black tactical shirt clings to his torso like a second skin, outlining every ridge of muscle. Without thinking, I reach for the hem, helping him pull the soaked fabric upward. My hands tremble slightly as they brush his bare skin, taut with hard-earned muscle. Old scars crisscross his chest and abdomen. My fingers trace one particularly raised line near his ribs, lingering longer than necessary.
He stills under my touch, breath catching. The air between us thickens, charged with leftover adrenaline and something far deeper. Water droplets run down his bare chest, catching the lantern light. I’m close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body, close enough to see the way his eyes darken as they lock onto mine.
“Bee…” His voice is rough, strained. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” I whisper, hands sliding higher to push the shirt completely off his shoulders. The fabric drops to the floor with a wet slap. My palms rest flat against his chest now, feeling the strong, steady thud of his heart beneath my fingers. It races almost as fast as mine. The scars tell stories of survival and loss, but right now all I feel is the living, breathing man in front of me.
His hands come up to cover mine, large and calloused, holding them against his skin. The contact sends heat pooling low in my belly. Rain continues to drum on the roof, but inside the lodge, the only storm that matters is the one building between us. His restraint is cracking, I can see it in the way his jaw clenches, in the way his thumbs stroke over my knuckles, in the way his gaze drops to my mouth again and lingers.
“You’re soaked too,” he murmurs, voice low and dangerous. One hand lifts to brush a damp strand of hair from my cheek, his touch gentle despite the raw power in his frame. “We should get you dry.”
But neither of us moves away. The evidence on the laptop screen, the close call with the storm, and the intimate act of helping him strip the wet gear have stripped away another layer of the walls between us.
Jax’s forehead rests against mine, breaths mingling in the lantern-lit space. “This is dangerous, Bee.”
“I know,” I breathe, my fingers curling slightly against his skin. “But I’m tired of fighting it.”
Chapter Eight - Reaper
I should have walked away the second her fingers brushed my chest.
Instead, I stand frozen, Isabella’s body pressed against mine, her hazel eyes locked on me with quiet defiance and raw want. The rain is still falling outside, but I barely hear it anymore. All I can focus on is the warmth of her skin under the oversized hoodie, the way her breath catches every time my thumbs stroke her lower back, and the dangerous line I’m about to cross.
“You’re cold,” I murmur, the weakest excuse I’ve ever given.
She smiles, small and knowing. “Then warm me up, Reaper.”
That’s all it takes.
I cup the back of her head and kiss her slowly at first, testing, giving her one last chance to stop this. She doesn’t. She sighs into my mouth and rises on her toes, deepening the kiss until it turns hot and hungry. My hands slide under the hem of the hoodie, palms gliding over smooth skin, learning the curve of her waist, the dip of her spine.
She shivers. I pull the hoodie up slowly. She lifts her arms, letting me draw it off. She stands before me in nothing but a thin pair of panties, skin flushed and glowing in the lantern light. Her dark hair falls loose around her shoulders. She is beautiful and so damn responsive to every brush of my fingers.
I kiss her again, deeper, then trail my mouth down the side of her neck. She tilts her head, offering more, a soft sound escaping her when I find the sensitive spot beneath her ear. My hands explore her slowly, cupping her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples until they tighten under my touch. She arches into me with a quiet moan, hips pressing forward, seeking friction.
I guide her backward until her legs hit the couch. We sink down together. I settle over her, kissing her like I have all the time in the world, even though my body is screaming for more. When I hook my fingers in her panties and slide them down her legs, she lifts her hips to help me, eyes never leaving mine.
